


[Human!079x682] Simon Vonn Angelo

by DrFortissimo



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrFortissimo/pseuds/DrFortissimo
Summary: Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.
Relationships: SCP-079 & SCP-682 (SCP Foundation), SCP-079/SCP-682 (SCP Foundation)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	1. Prologue

It was unusual for Simon to be up so early in the morning. He stood as still as a statue, holding his coffee just below his lips as he peered out of his bedroom's window, absorbing the dull mix of browns and greys that made up his local environment. Beep, he heard. Beep, beep. Simon sighed, looking at his computer - currently automating a relatively simple task. It was mundane and average, but Simon couldn't help his lips curling upwards a little, despite the sadness currently within him. It still gave him great joy - computing that is, not the beeping, to see a program that he himself had designed working so flawlessly. One could only imagine the hours it would take to write the same message at the end of a text file again, again and again - yet, here was his own work, doing it within minutes: It was a perfection. Simon had always been a perfectionist; sometimes it worked to his advantage and other times it did not. Case in point, last night.

The assignment was due in by eight o'clock, Tuesday morning. However, Simon was monumentally fucked. He started out like he would start any other assignment. "Chose a language." Python - simple, easy to read and intuitive. "Chose an editor." PyCharm, obviously - he wasn't going to use VSCode ever again after it ruined his last project. "Build a tool that can be used by ordinary people to mark local takeaway locations - and give them the option to order food directly from the tool, if possible." Easy. Finding the restaurants would be as simple as using Google Maps within the tool and ordering the food could easily be managed by an API. Simon coded fast and efficiently. It was all a walk in the park. However, it looked too bland and he couldn't just leave it - what if people wanted a pretty tool instead? He spent night after night adding more and more designs to the tool then, finally, he ran it. Something was horribly wrong. It displayed no errors but did not start: A logic error. Simon checked the clock that night, thinking he had plenty of time to fix the issue, only for happiness, hope and dreams to plummet; he has a few hours. He tried everything: Rewriting the code, moving the function calls between each other, checking the mathematics - nothing worked. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours and soon Simon's parents were shouting at him to wake up for school. He cried in the early morning and failed in the late.

Simon's lips dropped to melancholy whilst he stared at the computer, still beeping away with its processes. It truly was the end - he had failed the entrance exam into the greatest Computer Science college in the whole of Great Britannia herself, because of his own desire for perfection. He hadn't spoken to his parent's since he'd failed and they hadn't spoken to him, but their expressions said it all: Nothing but absolute disappointment and, to a lesser extent, anger. Simon broke down and the night slowly drifted towards day again.  
Simon scanned his room, placing essential items into a light-weight bag and carrying whatever small items he could find on his person.

"I take it you're leaving?" Simon spun around to see his grandfather watching him, a slight smile on lips.

"Why, are you happy that I am?" The old man simply smiled more.

"No, Simon. I'm just smiling at you," They paused, "Come closer, I have some more advice." For a split moment, Simon almost giggled like a child. The only thing preventing him from doing so was the loss of that child-like innocence he used to have, and that split moment was soon replaced by current mood.

"Well, I'm closer." Simon looked down.

"Good. I remember doing this all the time when you were little. Now, here's my advice," They took a breath, "There are three types of people on this damn forsaken planet. Those who are destined to be controlled, those who seek to control and those who are destined to control." The tone of their voice morphed swiftly to warning tone as all traces of their past smile vanished. "Avoid the second at all costs." Simon looked back up to see his parents standing behind his grandfather.

"I take it you're leaving?"


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

It’d taken a fair number of hours for Simon to work up the courage to leave. He had spent most of his last day in the house in a total, awkward silence with his parents. However, at some point in the night, he had, indeed, left the house, and family, for good.

A constant, soft sound could be heard all over as hundreds of rain droplets fell from the sky, forming an almost reflective layer on the grey streets Simon walked on. To Simon, the gentle light bouncing off the moon from the sun always revealed more beauty than the sun’s rays ever did by themselves. Cobwebs strung on lampposts glittered as the dim light of the bulb mixed with the light from the moon, the leaves of a few distant trees glimmering directly in the moon’s sight. Simon gave a shaky breath. This was it; he was really leaving home. No job, no hope, nothing – nothing but himself and the moon. However, the night did have its drawbacks, and they were beginning to take their toll on Simon. For a start, the air began to drop in temperature rapidly. What once was a hot, sunny day in school had turned into a cold, chilling run away at night. Secondly, there could be anything and anyone watching him, staring him down as if he was prey – it creeped him out. Simon would regularly find himself drifting between fixed thought on where he was going and a dream-like state as he wondered alone, and every time he transitioned back to his fixed thoughts his paranoia skyrocketed, frantically scanning the whole area to make sure no one was following him without his knowledge during his ‘day’-dreams. Simon was already beginning to lose his mind just one hour into the walk. It didn’t help that the rain had now stopped, leaving him alone with the deafening silence.

The silence was truly intoxicating, sucking the air out of his lungs with each attempted inhale. Simon’s eyes were widened, reduced to their most primal features. Adrenaline shot through his body with each twig-snap, each rustle of leaves and each sudden noise. It was finally beginning to hit Simon: he was alone. He had no family now, no friends, no computer, no skills, no job, no money, no house, no food, no water, nothing. He certainly wasn’t going to get anything from his neighborhood either – they were all just as doomed as he was, in their own way. Could it be that the town prophecies were coming true once again? Every day, a younger Simon would hear stories from the people, about the towns seemingly cruel curse. Everyone that lived there was doomed to fail and no one had escaped. Simon spent all his younger years ignoring the warnings – he could code, couldn’t he? He could just pass his exams, get a good paying job and prove all those filthy peasants on the streets wrong, couldn’t he? Obviously not anymore, he couldn’t. Simon sighed, looking around him for the fiftieth time. With no immediate signs of danger, he decided to cross a road – perhaps changing direction would lead him to something useful, he thought.

It quickly became clear to Simon that he had made a great mistake. He couldn’t turn back, he’d been walking for five hours since the crossing – he was starving, thirsty and tired. Yet, in front of him was nothing but a single, deep, dark alley way, barely illuminated by the orange lights above from poor houses and their sensors. Simon gulped, attempting to move forward and failing twice. It was if there was something in his body screaming at him, begging him not to go further, and his mind was almost willing to agree. However, another part of mind knew full well that it was only choice if he didn’t want to collapse from exhaustion in the middle of nowhere on the way back. After finally regaining his full attention, he closed his eyes, expecting to be attacked. When not in pain, he dived into the deep, dark alley way.

Simon cursed at his stupidity – he had been walking down the same alley way for what seemed like hours; his idea was terrible. It took all of Simon’s will power to not break down and cry on the spot. Besides, he had to press on further – he could’ve sworn he had seen multiple eyes watching him in the distance; he was beginning to fear his whereabouts. Suddenly, there was a noise. This noise was like no other natural noise. It wasn’t a falling object, or a snap, or a gust of wind, it was a loud bang. Simon began to rid away of any possibilities that couldn’t have occurred in a mental check list. “It couldn’t have been a gun.” Simon muttered out loud to himself. He frantically erased more possibilities from his mind. “Please don’t let it be a gun.” His pleads mustn’t have been heard by any greater power, as soon the possibility of a gun shot was the only reasonable conclusion left on his list.

Simon sat down; he couldn’t stand anymore. He felt as if the whole world was pressing against him, squeezing at his stomach, stealing more air from him. “I can’t take this anymore.” He began to cry softly to himself, looking at his reflection in a broken piece of glass on the ground. It had been at least six hours since he had left now – what’s worse is that he didn’t know what time he left the house. For all Simon knew, he could’ve left the house at seven o’clock at night, which would mean it’d be one o’clock in the morning. That would mean he’d have to remain in the night for yet another six hours – and the sheer thought of that made him shiver in both fear and regret. Another bang was heard, causing Simon to jump. He had only just remembered to not scream. This time, the noise was followed by another noise: the sound of metal, falling. Simon’s curiosity got the better of him after a few minutes. Cautiously, he slowly dragged his body towards the source of the previous bang, a few ten yards away from the second bang. He inspected the floor, nothing seemed to have dropped. Simon sighed, sitting down once more and closed his eyes. Perhaps he really could sleep in the alley way without too much danger. However, he did lazily open his eyes a few times. A small glint had appeared by the fifth time Simon had opened his eyes to check his surroundings – perhaps the moon was trying to show him something. He gazed more closely towards the shining object. He felt sick.

A single bullet lay on the ground, a few drops of blood besides it. The blood itself appeared to have had movement, almost as if someone had dragged a body. Simon’s body must’ve had an extreme rush of Adrenaline as, despite his fatigue, he practically jumped up and sprinted further down the alley way he was once sat in. He just kept running, never turning back: “It has to end eventually, right?” his mind boomed again and again. Simon could feel his muscles tearing and burning as his own acids ripped them apart. In response, he simply breathed in more, attempting to rid of the lactic acid faster than it could be produced – this did not work. Yet Simon kept running for his life, ignoring the pain. After running for twelve minutes, he approached a corner. Turning it, he ran into someone, wielding a gun. Simon’s mind raced, blocking out the shouts from the other man he had just ran into. Out of some gut instinct, he stole the gun off the man and shot him. Simon dropped the gun, breathing heavily. He had just killed a man. Granted, that man has probably killed others, but still. He just killed someone. Just like that, a man, who may have had dreams, a future, a family, friends, was erased from life itself and it was all Simon’s fault.

He was just a future college student, sixteen, and now he’d be a wanted criminal come a few days. Breathing heavily, Simon looked around once more, taking everything in. He noticed a piece of paper lying on the ground. Taking out one of his essential items, his pen, Simon decided to write:

_Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned; yet ask for it yourself too - for this town's curse is yours._

Simon slid the pen back into his pocket and left the note on the dead man below him. 


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

It was day now – the time had flown by since Simon first killed. Unsurprisingly, the police were soon at the scene, yet again another few victims were claimed by Tod alley way. Many of the police inspecting the area looked relatively alike – tall, strong and carrying a small stun-gun in their belts. However, whilst watching from his makeshift hideout, Simon noticed a new breed. They were tall, like the others, but wore black, seemingly bullet-proof vests and helmets a top of a greyish white gear. The helmets themselves had what could only be described as a green, acrylic, transparent viewing glass-pane that were raised up; Simon could only assume they were either for night vision, or they had heard stories of Tod alley way and became paranoid beyond comedy. However, he couldn't laugh – he was right next to them.

Simon sat as low as possible in a tree perched in the alley way. He had taken his black trousers off and placed them in front of him, then places leave besides them to make it look as if he was a bird's nest. Being honest with himself, Simon was quite embarrassed that anyone from behind would see him half naked, looking as if he was 'stuck' in the tree, but it was a price to pay for not being sent directly to prison: Unknown to Simon at the time, a face in a window had seen him kill a man the night prior, and so the authorities knew his face, and now Simon knew this – as if being 'potentially' wanted for murder was frightening enough. Simon dipped his head quickly, silently praying that the jumping eyes of a nearby 'special officer' hadn't seen him. It didn't help that the green glass panes that were now in use hid their eyes from Simon. "Simon!" One of the officers called, "Simon? Are you there, Simon?" A new feeling hit Simon's stomach – it made him feel as if he was about to throw up. They knew him. If he was on a computer, he'd be floating about in cyberspace, never to be located, but that was not the case. They had him trapped in a corner (well, a tree) all by himself, with no resources and were just waiting, waiting and waiting: They had won; time to give up.

"I'm here." Simon mumbled after safely getting down from the tree without anyone looking at his body.

"Ah, there you are Simon. We're the local police here." A standard officer replied without emotion, as if he had said the phrase one way or another thousands of times. "Mind if we could ask you some questions?"

"Only if I can ask you two." Simon shrugged sorrowfully, looking up at the police officer before his eyes went with their instinct to dart to the ground.

"Go on."

"Who are the other guards?"

"They work for the Wahnsinn Asylum a few miles down south." Simon swallowed hard. Wahnsinn Asylum had first been founded a few decades ago following a few mass murders that had occurred in his town. According to authorities, the perpetrators were caught and were regular people, but the townsfolk never believed them. Simon, once again, was panicking – what if he was forced to meet whatever evil people, or things, existed within the asylum?

"OK, and will I be sent to prison? We both know it was me…"

"No."

"Really?" Simon was surprised, but his happiness would only be brief.

"No, you shall be stored in Wahnsinn Asylum as SCP-079. Here are your rights." Simon was handed a blank A4 piece of paper.

"I don't understand, there are none?"

"Correct." Simon was knocked out cold.

The room in which Simon awoke from his deepened sleep was nothing like any other room he'd seen before. His eyes darted all over, looking for any danger, but there was nothing. He was in a mainly white room with orange stripes down the walls. Around him, was a large cage of metal poles, a computer and its accessories. At first, Simon decided not to touch the computer, in fear of punishment. However, as time went on, the idea of nothing too bad happening began to grow on Simon, and soon he was typing away. Within thirty minutes, he was making his first attempts to hack into the asylum and after a few more minutes, he succeeded, only to be presented with a screen that read, "Pass." Simon stared at the screen, confused, for a long time, until a surprise intercom announcement made him jump out of his skin.

"Congratulations, you passed our little test. No other person we've seen has ever been able to do that so quickly, and only five managed to achieve it at all. In fact, I think that last person we had do it took seven days – you took thirty-four minutes," Simon couldn't prevent a slight grin from appearing on his face, forgetting why he was there, "However." Pause. One simple pause caused the whole mood to change, "Due to your prior actions, and your knowledge, you will be labelled SCP-079, rather than D-4832 or anything like that. Enjoy your stay, we'll bring food later." The intercom turned off following the voice, its tone getting quite passive aggressive at the end.

"How did they know my skill?" Simon pondered, "Had they been spying on me?" Simon had many questions. "Why am I locked in a cage made from poles?", "Why am I even in an asylum if I'm not crazy", and, most important of all, "Why am I named SCP-079?"


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

Despite his best efforts, Simon, or ‘SCP-079’ as he was now known, could not get the computer in his cell to move on from the ‘Pass screen’. Eventually, he had drifted into a peaceful slumber on the cold floor of his containment chamber. It was strange for Simon that Wahnsinn Asylum had placed him in his own chamber, rather than cell, to say the least – then again, everything about the Asylum was strange to him. According to the town locals, Wahnsinn Asylum was an old, decaying building filled with screaming lunatics, murderers, arsonists, rapists and who knows what, but Simon was not given that impression. He hadn’t seen anyone being raped, or any dead bodies – come to think of it, he hadn’t heard a fire alarm, or heard any screaming. Truthfully, not a single sense of Simon’s body could testify towards the claims of the locals.

If he was being totally honest, the Asylum was rather pretty. The containment chamber Simon lay in was a soft, chalk-like white, with a gentle, brick-like orange running along the walls in a singular stripe, just a feet or two above the floor. The floor of the chamber was also rather nice, made from small white tiles with a black engraving around each tile’s edge, smooth enough to let Simon sleep on the tiles without being to uncomfortable. However, it was cold. Absolutely freezing, even. Simon couldn’t understand how a seemingly infamous asylum, filled with the countries most dangerous convicts (and probably backed by the government) couldn’t afford a heating system – then again, perhaps they could. Perhaps they were purposefully torturing him with the cold, testing just how far Simon could go before his whole body would start to shut down. But why? Maybe they would use the information in the future, as a punishment or sadistic show to watch when the researchers were bored? As Simon slept, his mind wandered further, asking more and more questions along the way. Who are the researchers? What does Wahnsinn mean? What is an SCP? However, one question stuck out like a sore thumb in Simon’s mind: Is there only seventy-nine convicts? It was this one question that confused Simon the most. The townsfolk had said to Simon that hundreds, if not thousands of prisoners and criminals had been sent to Wahnsinn, and yet they had named him ‘SCP-079’.

Simon fluttered his eyes open with a wave of tiredness washing over him. All he could hear was the sound of a stupidly sized, metal door casually opening, seemingly taking its sweet time opening just to annoy him.

“SCP-079, wake up.” A man said, clearly both bored and passive aggressive. Simon tilted his head at the guard, staring blankly. Then, he remembered.

“Hey, you’re one of those special guards, with the green shield things on your helmets-“ Simon was interrupted.

“Quiet SCP-079. I don’t have time to make small talk with an SCP like _you_ ,” The guard scoffed, “ _You’re_ a murderer – and a nerd, too.” Simon clenched his fist, frowning at the guards towering above him outside of his containment chamber’s cage.

“Watch out mate, I think he might punch us through the metal with his superpowers and whatnot.” Another guard laughed. The first guard joined in.

“That’s enough.” Just behind the guards, Simon could make out another figure, dressed in a white lab-coat. The figure wore glasses, had ginger hair and carried a few pens in his coat pocket. However, the most striking feature, for Simon at least, was the blood-red medallion that the doctor wore around his neck.

“Who are you?” Simon asked, half-expecting to be interrupted by the guards again.

“My name is Dr Bright – it’s a pleasure to meet you, 079.” The doctor smiled, sticking his hand through the cage to shake Simon’s, who complied.

“SCP-963-2, please step away from SCP-079 and follow protocol.” The first guard sighed.

“Excuse me?” Dr Bright snapped back, “ _You_ are under no authority to give _me_ commands, and my name is Dr Bright, not ‘ _SCP-963-2, please do this!’_ or, ‘ _SCP-963-2, you aren’t allowed to do that!_ ’.” The first guard rolled his eyes.

“You’re an SCP as well?” Simon looked up at the doctor. Bright gave a small, solemn smile.

“Kind of.” Simon looked the doctor in the eyes for a quick second. He could’ve sworn that somewhere in his smile there was an ounce of grief. “Anyway, my name is Dr Bright – I’ll be your lead researcher for the time being.” In a mere moment, it appeared to Simon that Bright was once again back to his happy self. “By the way,” Bright whispered, “Your computer is on. I want you to hack into the camera feed of SCP-035, some idiot turned it off.” Bright grinned. Simon nodded reluctantly, not knowing what an or a SCP-035 is.

“SCP-963-2, please step away from SCP-079.” Bright snarled, stepping away.

“Happy, _MTF-Guard No.124_?”

“Uh, that’s not my designated number, SCP-963-2.”

“Call me Dr Bright!” Bright shouted at him suddenly, attempting to fight the guard, before the second guard pulled him away.

“Sorry about that. SCP-963-2 has some, uh,” The first guard paused in thought for a moment, “’mental issues’. Nothing like what you think though.” SCP-079 nodded. “Alright, we’ll be patrolling the outside of your chamber, try not to cut yourself on anything or I’ll have to drag you to the medical bay.” They went on, “Do the job Dr- I mean SCP-963-2 asked of you, and no spying on us through your silly computer.” Simon nodded. Finally, the guard left.

“Someone’s having a bad day.” Simon muttered out loud. Glancing towards the computer in his cell, Simon gave a sweet, nostalgic smile; perhaps containment wasn’t that bad after all. Turning on the monitor, it glowed blue with its wallpaper: A blue background with a white logo in the middle – with text underneath the logo stating the words, ‘Secure’, ‘Contain’, and, ‘Protect’. Simon then noticed the Windows icon at the bottom-left corner of the screen. He laughed to himself. “This should be easy, then.” Opening a PowerShell window, and a Command Prompt window, he began his work.

After ten minutes (eight of those minutes spent installing Python onto a relatively slow, overly secured computer) of work, Simon had broken into the camera feed – a small accomplishment for Simon, but still impressive, nevertheless. Furthermore, nosing around a few directories, it quickly became apparent to Simon that the names of every camera where stored in a text file. Simon sighed. “Could’ve at least bothered to make a database.” To save time, he began to write a little code:

_def main():_

_with open(‘cameras.txt’, ‘r’) as f:_

_cameras = list(f)_

_for cam in cameras:_

_if “035” not in cam:_

_continue_

_else:_

_print(cam)_

_if __name__ == “__main__”:_

_main()_

_exit_input = input(“\n >>> “)_

Simon ran the code. The terminal in front of him displayed a few cameras. ‘cam-035-hall’, ‘cam-035-a’, ‘cam-035-b’. Navigating to the cameras through the camera feed, he noticed all three were dead, with red text appearing in a rhythm stating,

“Camera off. Use the SCP-CAM tool to turn back on.” It didn’t take long for Simon to find the SCP-CAM tools .exe file. Running the tool, Simon was surprised it didn’t ask for any clearance. Perhaps his computer was of a high clearance to begin with. With a proud smile, Simon jumped to the three SCP-035 cameras and turned them back on. Suddenly, Simon could hear clapping. He turned around.

“I see you fixed _that idiot_ ’s mistake.” Bright winked. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“I should’ve known, shouldn’t I?” Simon grinned. Bright grinned back.

“You know, SCP-079.”

“Call me Simon.” Simon interrupted. Bright nodded happily.

“You know, Simon.” Bright titled his head a little, eyeing the man in front of him. “I know I’m not supposed to communicate with, you know,” Bright’s grin widened, “other SCPs and all, but perhaps you could do little old me a favour?” At this point, Bright had perched himself against Simon’s cage, tugging Simon’s top towards him. “You know Simon, those guards were quite mean to us, weren’t they?” Simon nodded, “Perhaps we could… _spy_ on them?” Simon couldn’t help but laugh at the SCP, doctor or whatever being was in front of him, who had a child-like, mischievous grin plastered all over his face.

“Later,” Simon laughed, “The guards will be expecting you soon, surely?”

“Good point.” Bright reflected, “I’ll speak to you soon Simon.”

“Speak to you soon, _SCP-963-2_.” Simon smirked.

“Bye, _SCP-079_.” Bright somehow waved sarcastically. Simon lay down in silence, thinking in deep thought. Perhaps this Asylum wasn’t so bad, or perhaps he just hadn’t seen the worse of it. Simon was interrupted from his thoughts from the sounds of movement coming from his computer. Looking at screen, Simon noticed a man walking around in a room, wearing a white porcelain drama mask.

“Perhaps that’s SCP-035.” Simon said out loud.

“Perhaps it is.” The mask looked up at the camera pointed directly at it, causing Simon to jump.

“You can hear me?”

“Why yes,” The mask laughed, “The cameras do have audio transmitters. I’d be careful, whoever you are – wouldn’t want to broadcast yourself doing dirty things like that other scientist a while back.” Simon gave a sigh of relief – at least the mask hadn’t caught on that he was an SCP himself.

Simon continued flicking through cameras: ‘cam-106-a’ displayed a metal box, ‘cam-106-b’ displayed an old man sitting within the box. Simon had quickly learned that the numbers represented the SCPs themselves. ‘cam-096-a’ and ‘cam-096-b’ were both blacked out and couldn’t be turned on, not even with the SCP-CAM tool, although Simon could hear someone crying. Simon gulped – perhaps _that_ was a small hint at the reality of the Asylum. Still, the image of Dr Bright’s mischievous grin was more than enough to keep Simon happy for a while longer. ‘cam-049-a’ displayed nothing but a hallway. Venturing further, Simon moved to ‘cam-049-b’, showing another hallway. Simon was perplexed, to say the least. Then, he moved to ‘cam-049-c’, showing yet another hallway with an elevator at the end.

“This is getting ridiculous.” Simon whispered to himself. Finally, he found ‘cam-049-d’. Within the room he was viewing, stood a tall man, dressed as a medieval plague doctor, albeit with a modified beak. Standing beside the plague doctor were two, zombie-like men in orange clothes. “Great, this place _does_ have lunatics.” Simon whispered. The plague doctor looked around for a brief second, before continuing whatever it was doing. Finally, Simon decided to check one last camera: ‘cam-682’.

SCP-682’s room, at least to Simon, looked rather strange compared to the other rooms. Then again, so did his room. The room was tall, wide and had zero cages or defining features – it was essentially just a hallow box with nothing it besides a bed and a television. Simon moved the camera, focusing in on the bed. On the bed, lay an athletically competent man in boxers, with a metal medallion around his neck (that couldn’t be quite made-out from the blur of the camera), staring directly at the camera that had turned to face him. The man, rather casually, seemed to be ‘just chilling’, his hands placed behind his head. Simon stared at the man for a bit, then the room, and then the man some more, moving the remote camera away and back to the man each time. Suddenly, the man gave a toothy grin.

“What? Like what you see?” The man smirked at the camera, noticing its sudden movements, which were being caused half by Simon frantically attempting to change camera before the two guards walking in on him spotted him checking cameras he shouldn’t be checking, and half by Simon wanting to talk to anything but a man flirting to him whilst locked up in a cage in a supposed mental Asylum for the criminally insane.

“SCP-079, you will be escorted to SCP-963-2’s ‘office’ now.” Simon let out all the sudden stress in a sigh.

“Thank you.” Simon whispered. The guards looked at each other, both very confused, before unlocking the cage.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

“You can sit down on the couch, don’t worry.” Dr Bright smiled at Simon as he stood in his office, “I’m not going to make you stand up whilst we speak.” Simon nodded. The couch was navy blue, matching well with the chalky white of Dr Bright’s office. On the walls were several framed paintings, one depicting what seemed to be a portrait of Dr Bright, one a painting of a mountain and one a painting of red streaks across the canvas, along with a plethora of black splashes and a few tears and rips. “So, what are you doing here?” Dr Bright distracted Simon from his thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked. 

“Well, you can’t be in here for no reason at all, Simon.” Dr Bright placed an arm on his table and rested his head against the hand.

“Oh,” Simon looked down, “Murder.” Dr Bright’s eyes widened.

“You? A murderer?” Simon didn’t reply. Dr Bright stood up, backing away slowly to the office door. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

“Why would I have a weapon on me?” Simon frowned, his eyes piercing Dr Bright’s.

“Well, you’re a murderer, an animal; someone to stay clear of! Why wouldn’t you have a weapon?”

“I didn’t mean it!” Simon shouted, shaking his hand at the doctor. “You think I meant to kill? You think I was just running along and thought to myself, ‘I know, let’s kill some random bloke off the street.’ Do I look insane to you, Doctor Bright?” Dr Bright sighed.

“Why then?”

“It was an accident.” Simon mumbled.

“Say again?”

“An accident.” Simon spoke louder, “I was running in an alleyway; I was scared. I saw a man with a gun, so nature took its course. I killed them, yes, but it was only an instinct doctor.”

“Call me Jack.” Dr Bright interrupted; Simon looked up. “I’m sorry for assuming.”

“It’s fine.” Simon weakly gave a smile back to the doctor.

“I really am. It’s-” Dr Bright paused before sitting down on the couch next to Simon. “It’s just this Asylum. I don’t understand it anymore.”

“Go on?”

“It’s… it’s not right. I don’t mean right as in morals, or law, I mean it’s not right. It should not exist.”

“What?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean by that?”

“I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I don’t think it’s normal, Simon. It does things to me. It drives me crazy, it makes me assume things about things I would’ve never have thought of if not in the Asylum walls. Sometimes I think I can hear it.”  
“Hear it?”

“Yes.” Dr Bright looked Simon in the eyes, “I can hear it - I hear it calling me, and this stupid medallion doesn’t help either.” Simon eyed the red medallion. It was true, in Simon’s mind, the Asylum was strange. Not as strange as what Dr Bright had said, but certainly unsettling. Simon kept eyeing the medallion, there was something about it that was so enticing. Dr Bright must’ve realised this.

“Hey.” The doctor moved closer to Simon. “Ignore the medallion, it isn’t good for you, trust me.” Simon nodded.

“What is it?” Dr Bright sighed,

“If you must know, this medallion contains my consciousness, my soul - it is me.”

“You what?”

“I know,” Dr Bright placed an arm on Simon’s shoulder, “It’s a lot to take in, I know. This Asylum, Simon, is not a real Asylum, that was a lie by the governments and councils.”

“So it’s true what locals said-”

“Yes,” Dr Bright cut Simon off, “It is very true. That mask for example, SCP-035, that mask is controlling the human. The human shall slowly decay to a black corrosive the mask produces, and die.”

“Wait, it was the mask speaking to me?” Dr Bright’s eyes widened, his face morphing into one of extreme concern.

“Say that again?”

“The mask, it spoke to me.”

“You heard it’s voice?” Dr Bright stuttered, “In your head?”

“No, not like that. It didn’t talk to me in my head, it spoke out loud, telling me the cameras had audio transmitters.” Dr Bright gave a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank heavens, the mask can invade people’s minds when it wants too - whisper things to them, stuff like that,” Simon lay back, slightly more at ease when in company of the doctor than five minutes ago, “Oh, and he was wrong by the way.”

“Who, the mask?”

“Correct. Only the cameras associated with humans or creatures that can hear have transmitters - random hallways do not have them. Oh and, if you want to mute yourself with the camera program, press M to toggle.”

“Got it.” Dr Bright’s mind began to wander to his previous idea and a grin formed on his face.

“Want to spy on those guards now?” Simon smirked.  
Simon and Dr Bright had spent at least half an hour spying on the guards whilst muted, casually discussing their lives as they worked; Dr Bright had learnt of Simon’s failure and run away, whilst Simon had learnt of Dr Bright’s brother, as well as how he ended up as the so-called, ‘SCP-963-2’. Wrapping his arm around Simon, Dr Bright frowned.

“You know Simon, I’d say your life is becoming a real greek tragedy.” Simon laughed,

“I suppose so, Jack.” Although both of them were laughing, they could both see a hint of sadness in each other’s eyes. Truthfully, Dr Bright was right; his life was becoming a tragedy, and Dr Bright’s life already was. The two looked in each other’s eyes for a few minutes, searching each other’s for any signs of new emotions. The room became quiet, but it was a peaceful kind of quiet. “Who’s SCP-682?” Simon decided to break the silence.

“SCP-682?” Dr Bright raised an eyebrow, “Why’d you want to know about him?”

“Just curious.” Simon shrugged back.

“Well, his name is Andrew.”

“Andrew?” Simon placed a thoughtful hand on his chin.

“Andrew K. Leveson.” Dr Bright exaggeratingly exclaimed, “Only the most intelligent, beautiful, amazing-ist SCP out there… according to Andrew K. Leveson, that is!” Simon laughed.

“Huh, sounds like quite the narcissist.”

“Yeah well,” Dr Bright smirked, “I can’t tell whether it’s real or not, the narcissism. On the one hand, he really could be a narcissistic psychopath. However, on the other hand, he could just be trying to piss off the foundation staff - and the other SCPs - as much as possible.”

“Ah, the ultimate trollster.” Simon mocked, making Dr Bright laugh even more.

“Don’t let him catch you saying that, he might whine at you about him having the power to end your life and whatnot. Never does-” Dr Bright paused, “Well except that one time he really did kill an SCP who shit-talked him, but to be fair, that SCP was a complete and utter twat, so I think you’ll be good.”

“I hope so.” Dr Bright and Simon’s conversation was suddenly cut short by a loud banging on Dr Bright’s office door.

“SCP-963-2, SCP-079 will return to his containment chamber now.” The guard from earlier commanded.

“Five more minutes.”

“SCP-963-2, SCP-079 will return to his containment chamber, now.” Dr Bright quickly stood up and opened the door, his face red in half-anger and half flustered embarrassment at showing so much anger in front of his guest - and friend. 

“Alright, fine! Simon here will return to his containment chamber. However, Simon and I, Dr Bright, will meet again tomorrow to continue our talk, without your silly little interruption.”  
“SCP-963-2, SCP-079 is not permitted-” Dr Bright grabbed the guard, pulling him towards him,

“My name is Dr Bright, and his name is Simon!” Quickly, two more guards appeared, apprehending the doctor.

“Come on SCP-079, let’s head back to your containment chamber.” Another guard whispered to Simon, who gave a sad nod - although he made sure to wave back to Dr Bright long enough for him to notice whilst attempting to fight the first guard.

Simon’s containment chamber had felt lonelier since his encounter with Dr Bright - perhaps he too, like so many others, had grown used to company too little too late. Although he was looking forward to his next meeting with the next doctor. To Simon, Dr Bright seemed to be the only voice of reason in the whole facility. 

A whirring sound distracted Simon from his thoughts. He turned around to see his computer.

“Then again,” Simon whispered to himself quietly, slowly dragging himself to the computer’s keyboard and mouse, “Perhaps I could speak to the other SCPs… Perhaps I could speak to Andrew.” Simon smirked, remembering Dr Bright’s comments, “Yeah, that’d be fun.”


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

“How long have you been doing that?” Simon spoke through the camera as he observed SCP-035, who jumped at the response.

“How long have you been watching me, ‘doing that’?” He groaned.

“Not too long,” Simon laughed, “I suppose when you’re locked in a containment chamber for eternity and you find a rubber ball there’s not much to do other than play with it.” SCP-035 began to grin.

“I recognise that voice, doctor. Is your job so boring that all you do every day is watch me?” Simon gulped. It was the first time he had been presented with the task of telling other SCPs of his existence – except for Dr Bright, of course.

“Well, about that…” The mask looked towards the camera in curiosity.

“Hm?”

“My name is SCP-079.” Although Simon did not know why, or how, he could have sworn the mask he was watching appeared even happier than he did before.

“Ah, the computer! Everyone’s been talking about you!” Simon’s eyes widened.

“What!?” The mask merely laughed back.

“Ah yes! You see, 079,” They coughed, as if they were about to give the most important speech of their entire life, “As I’m the first SCP you’ve spoken too, I have the honour of introducing you, properly, to the foundation.”

“OK?” Simon expressed, raising an eyebrow.

“And part of that includes our history. So, we haven’t had a technological SCP in I’d say about fifty years – not surprisingly, word of a new computer SCP quickly spread throughout our gossip!”

“Our gossip?” The mask chuckled.

“Sorry, the SCP’s gossip,” they paused, “Suffice to say, they’re a little interested; some… more than others.”

“I see.” Simon concluded, “May I ask how you all found out?” The mask shrugged with his host,

“Not sure, I guess someone heard listening in on the doctors or researcher’s gossip about any new SCPs, heard there was a computer-wizard named SCP-079, then told the others.” Simon yawned as he noticed the lights dimming in both his container and SCP-035’s. 

“So, are you going to ‘introduce’ me to the other SCPs?” The mask pondered in his thoughts for a moment.

“Probably tomorrow. Some SCPs on good behaviour are allowed out at night providing they don’t approach any offices or class D detention centres… I’m not one of them, I’m afraid.” Simon gave a hum of understanding.

“However, I can tell you all about them!” Simon smiled,

“That’d be great!”

“Alright, who’d you wanna find out about first, eh?” SCP-035 moved even closer to the camera. Truthfully, this is the most interaction he had had in a long time. Simon let himself relax in his dimmed room, allowing his mind to come up with questions faster.

“Who’s the guy in the big-ass metal box?”

“The cryin’ one or the old one?”

“Why not both?” The mask smiled,

“Alrighty. The guy in the box with no crying is SCP-106. He’s a Keter, just like me.”

“Keter?”

“Hm, doctors don’t tell you about the ranking systems these days?” SCP-035 scoffed.

“I guess not.”

“Well, Safe are safe SCPs, Euclids are kind of dangerous SCPs and Keters are really dangerous – or at least that’s what it means to us. I imagine to the doctors it has something to do with containment – like everything else in their lives.”

“So, what am I?” Simon quizzed, attempting to rap his head around so much information at once.

“Eh, I dunno. It’ll say on your document – I’m sure you can find that with your snazzy computer or whatever.”

“Wait a minute,” Simon interrupted, “You said you were a keter?” The mask looked directly into Simon’s eyes from the camera.

“Oh yes, I can see you – I’m more than just a silly mask, Simon.” Simon jumped away from the computer. “Wait! Come back!” The mask shouted, to which Simon quickly obliged.

“Sorry about that-” The mask interrupted Simon,

“No need to apologise. I shouldn’t have scared you like that, just a habit when on camera to scare people looking.” Simon nodded. “Anyway, SCP-106 is a keter – he’s an old war veteran covered in some weird black ooze. He can do all kinds of crazy shit, honestly I’m kind of jealous.”

“So, what can he do?”

“Well, he can warp to places, teleport people to his own dimension – oh yeah, he has his own friggin’ dimension for Christ’s sake!” SCP-035 took notice of Simon’s face as he stared towards the camera. 

“Amazed, huh?” Simon shook his head,

“Sorry, just taking it all in. What’s your name, by the way?”

“My name is δύο.” The mask took a bow.” 

“And… uh,” Simon though about his wording, “Don’t mean to be rude but, how would I be spelling that?” 

“Dýo”

“That’s quite the fancy name, I see?” Dýo smiled.

“Yes, well. That is what happens when you’re Greek. Anyway, back to the SCPs. The crying guy is SCP-096 – he doesn’t like being looked at.” Simon laughed,

“Is that it?” However, his laughing soon stopped as he noticed the expression on Dýo’s face had morphed to tragedy without him noticing the morphing once. A chill went up his spine.

“Do not look at his face, do I make myself clear, Simon?”

“Yes Dýo. May I ask, why?”

“SCP-096, he… he.” Dýo recomposed himself, “He gets agitated when his face is looked at. No one knows why or how, but if someone looks at an image of his face – even if they’re thousands of miles away, he will find them… and he will kill them – brutally, or at least I’ve heard it can be brutal.”

“Oh.” Simon breathed heavily, knowing that there could possibly be a security camera he missed with SCP-096 directly in the room.

“He’ll be dead soon.”

“Who, SCP-096?”

“Yeah, foundation top-dogs ordered his termination a few weeks ago.” Dýo and Simon both sat quietly for a few minutes, both knowing they could see each other, despite the camera not even  
broadcasting a webcam. 

“So, what about that nutjob with the plague mask making zombies?” Dýo giggled, gaining a brief, child-like innocence for a moment.

“Sorry, his name is Damian. Every, and I mean every girl working at Site-19 has a crush on my Damian – I can see why: British voice, metallic. Keeps his distance, in other words, mysterious, intelligent,  
calm, sexy-”

“OK I’ve heard enough.” Simon laughed, “So are you two a thing?”

“Used to be, before containment. I mean, we still are, don’t get me wrong, but we never see each other. Still, I can only imagine how poor Damian is doing with those nutjob girls constantly nagging him – no girls want to speak with me, I’m am a keter, after all. When he sees me, I’ll give him a big hug.” Simon smiled.

“What about Andrew?”

“Sorry?” Dýo broke from his trance, presumably thinking about SCP-049.

“Andrew K. Leveson?”

“Ah yes, lizard man.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s his nickname, ‘Hard-to-destroy reptile.’” Dýo laughed, “He survives everything; SCP-173 included, barely.” Simon hummed. “Something wrong?”

“He’s quite hot, don’t you think?” Simon blurted out, his face reddening at his thoughts.

“God damn, not so shy now, huh?” Dýo smirked, deciding to keep his mind-reading knowledge to himself for now. “Andrew can be quite the pain in the arse, but he’s been well-tempered lately.”

“How so?”

“Well usually he wants to kill almost everything – except most of the other keter SCPs, but after befriending Dr Bright he’s been working on trying to be happy – or at least appear it, so he can wander around at night. That way, he can meet Dr Bright, who in return gives him lots of meat. I should probably mention he loves his meat; white, red – if it’s meat, he’ll eat it.” Simon frowned. “Something botherin’ you?”

“What if I’m not a keter.” Simon sighed. A small smile formed on Dýo’s porcelain surface.

“Well, strangely, he seems to be quite close to Damian, who is only a Euclid. I reckon whilst Andrew was out one night in a containment breach, he was probably being annoyed by every SCP he encountered, as usual, so meeting an SCP as intelligent as Damian probably eased his nerves a little. After that, I suppose they became friends.” Dýo winked at Simon, “And you know what that means?”

“No?”

“I reckon Andrew has a thing for intelligence and, well… y’know, you hack computers.” Simon’s face lit up.

“You really think he could like me?”

“Sure, and remember, word has spread about you, Simon. But for now, I request we end this conversation, I’m going to sleep.” Dýo yawned, “Until next time.”

“Goodnight, Dýo.” Simon whispered before exiting his camera feed. Almost immediately, Simon navigated to SCP-682’s main feed and, sure enough, SCP-682 lay in his bed, reading. Simon moved his camera around, not wanting to fully startle the man. Sure enough, he noticed.

“What do you want, prick?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Simon’s happiness shrank.

“Fuckin’ scientists…” The happiness Simon lost was quickly matched by a surge of hope.

“Wait!”

“What!?” The man shouted.

“My…” Simon paused. “My name is SCP-079.” SCP-682 paused, before lowering his book to stare into the camera.

“Come again?”

“SCP-079.” Simon spoke, gathering any of the remains of his confidence. SCP-682 smiled a little.

“Hm, so you’re the new guy everyone’s been talking about.”

“I suppose. They’ve mentioned you a few times too.” Simon laughed. SCP-682 laughed back, which honestly surprised Simon, who assumed he’d take offence to his laughter.

“They all know me, 079. Anyway, you’re a computer scientist, correct?”

“Well… failed computer scientist.”

“Nonsense!” SCP-682 exclaimed, “Just bad luck, I’ve heard about you from Dr Bright, he came and visited before to calm down from the guards annoying him. You must be pretty smart, huh?”

“Not me.” Simon chucked, a red tint making its way back to his face.

“You know, Simon, I have a thing for smart people.”

“I’m sorry?” Simon almost coughed in the amount of air he inhaled in surprise.

“Mm, if it wasn’t for that mask, I’d have swept Damian away, but it’s good to see there are, other, opportunities.” SCP-682 winked. “Sorry, I can be a bit of a flirt, hope you don’t mind, Simon.”

“Not at all!” Simon quickly responded, flustered. “So, Andrew K. Leveson, is it?” SCP-682 grinned.

“How’d you find out my full name?”

“Dr Bright.” Simon ran a hand through the side of his hair.

“Should’ve guessed. Anyway, I’m going to head off to bed now, Simon. Speak to me soon, pretty please?” Andrew whispered softly.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Simon praised himself repeatedly.

“Hm?”

“Sorry. Yes, we’ll speak again.” Simon’s face flushed fully red.

“Very well. Goodnight, Simon.” Andrew got up from where he was reading and strolled to his bed in his boxers. Simon knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but gawk at the half-naked man in front of him. Simon quickly disconnected from the cameras before Andrew turned around to notice the camera following him, eyeing him all over, before lying in his own containment chamber. It had been fitted with a new bed.

“Dýo, Damian, Bright…” Simon spoke to himself as he fell into a slumber, “Andrew.”


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

It was the sound of the Dr Bright knocking on Simon’s containment chamber that woke Simon up. Strangely, it was the first night that Simon had had a good night’s sleep in weeks, despite the unpredictable nature of his current predicament.

“Wake up.” Dr Bright whispered.

“Huh? What do you want at this time?” Yawned Simon, blinking his eyes rapidly at the new photons of light blinding his retinas. Dr Bright smiled softly,

“Sorry for disturbing your rest, I just came to tell you that I’m allowing you to have a lie-in until night, that way you can roam the facility at night. If the guards complain, send them to me.”

“Thank you,” Simon lay his head back down against his pillow, “Oh and, Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Will I be able to meet the others? Like Dýo, or Damian, or Andrew – hell, maybe more?” Dr Bright laughed at Simon’s child-like curiosity.

“Depends who is out,” A slight smirk formed on Dr Bright’s face, “I suppose Dýo blabbered on about SCP-049 for ten minutes as usual?”

“Which one is SCP-049?”

“Damian.”

“Oh, well in that case – yes.” The pair laughed.

“Anyways, I shall be leaving to my office now. Have a good rest, Simon.” Simon pulled his blanket over his head to block out the light and returned to his blind trance.

Dr Bright huffed in his office, staring at the empty document on the monitor in front of him. Dr Bright had the challenging task of writing Simon’s SCP document, whilst remaining unbiased and emotionless. It was quite the challenge, to say the least. ‘Just my luck’ was a phrase Dr Bright regularly uttered throughout his on-going time at the Asylum: ‘Just my luck to be trapped in a medallion’, ‘just my luck to be with _this_ SCP’, and now it was, ‘just my luck that there is _no one_ else to write this document in the whole site at the moment.’

“Fucking damn it!” Dr Bright lashed out at himself, under his breath of course, deleting another ten minutes of his, highly biased, highly emotional, work.

“SCP-963-2” A guard suddenly entered Dr Bright’s office, “SCP-079 has- “.

“First of all, my name is Dr Bright!” Dr Bright snarled, his eyebrows scowling, “Well?”

“Dr Bright, SCP-079 has refused to wake up.”

“Let him sleep, he must be awake during the night.” The guard gave a confused look.

“Why?”

“Never you mind! Just stop bothering me, I’m busy.” Dr Bright sighed in relief as the guard left. He returned to staring at the document before pausing for a moment. “I’ll do it later.”

Simon fluttered his eyes open on hearing an alarm clocked. “Must’ve been placed there by Jack.” Speaking of the devil, a red hue could be seen nearing his chamber until the hue took the form of a medallion.

“Ready to see the other SCPs? I managed to convince O5 council to let out the dangerous ones too, for one night. Don’t do anything stupid or they’ll have you shot.” Simon nodded, heading off with Dr Bright to the SCPs.

There they were. In a large, sealed off room, stood many people – some looking more dangerous than others. To the left were two men: An old man covered in a substance only describable as ‘a black tar’, drinking an alcoholic beverage, and a fragile man, crying to himself in the corner. In front of him were many men – too many to name. However, Simon did not fail to notice the exceptionally tall man covered in spray paint, not participating in any form of locomotion. Finally, to his right, were a few men, including his good friend Dýo, Damian and of course, Andrew.

“Attention.” Dr Bright shouted. The other SCPs stared at the duo and Simon could practically feel the judgement radiating in the air. “This is SCP-079.” The comment caused a few murmurs – along with a particularly happy clap from Dýo.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Jack.” Simon nervously laughed, but as he turned around, he realised Dr Bright had left. Dýo whispered in Simon’s head,

“Come to us.” Simon relaxed as he headed to the trio as the other SCPs had quickly lost interest. The room Simon found himself in was more like a pub than an asylum room. SCPs were sat, drinking, talking, sharing stories – doing pretty much anything and everything except being contained. “Come, sit down.” Dýo ushered Simon to a seat next to Andrew. “So, first impressions of the Asylum?”

“Seems quite… nice.” Simon spoke. Andrew growled, “Yeah, they like to give good first impressions – then they pull the rug from under you.” Simon hummed.

“What are they like?”

“Who?” Damian finally spoke. Simon had to admit, he was taken aback from his voice.

“The scientists, doctors, whatever they are.”

“They’re a bunch of worthless- “

“Think before you speak.” Damian interrupted Andrew, answering for Simon instead, “It depends on who you are really. For my good friend Dýo here,” Simon noticed Damian place his hand on Dýo’s shoulder, yet the body did not cease biological functions, “The doctors are neutral, if not completely scared, so they don’t bother him too much.” Dýo gave a small chuckle. “As for me, they can be bothersome sometimes, and they lack understanding of the pestilence seemingly on purpose I’ve noticed, but other than that they’re alright, I guess.” Andrew still did not look too impressed by the conversation. “As for Andrew here, well, I suppose sometimes they annoy him.”

“Correction, they _always_ annoy me.” Grunted Andrew, “They won’t stop pestering me, testing me, torturing me.” 

“I’m sorry?” Simon’s eyes widened. “Yes.” Andrew mumbled. The mood of the group lowered, although that didn’t stop Dýo from immediately striking pleasant conversation.

“Hey, why don’t we all play a game!” Andrew raised an eyebrow. Silence.

“Well?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted to play a bloody game?”

“Oh. Well I don’t know _what_ game, I just know that- “Not surprisingly, Andrew punched Dýo in the face, although both knew he didn’t feel pain in that way. Simon smirked, and Andrew began to feel those ‘things’ again. Ever since he had met Simon, Andrew felt something – love. After all, it would stupid for a millennia-old man to have never felt such a thing. But he didn’t want to confess just yet, he had to give it some thought along with study.

“Why don’t ya’ play truths with me?” The group turned around to see SCP-106 holding his alcohol in his hands, grinning.

“The fuck is truths?” Andrew asked with as much motivation as a man told to make a puzzle immediately after smashing a one thousand piece puzzle on his 999th piece.

“Well it’s like Truth or Dare init?” SCP-106 smiled. The group stared at him with blank expressions. “Well, how the hell are we going to do dares in this room?”

“Let me get this straight,” Damian hummed, “We’re going to play truths, which is Truth or Dare without dares, because we can’t do dares in this room?”

“Yep.” SCP-106 commented.

“OK… I dare you to have an imagination.” SCP-035 clicked his tongue and whistled,

“God damn. I thought you were supposed to be the polite one?” Damian chuckled. SCP-106 brought a chair to the group and sat down.

“Who’s going first?” Simon asked.

“Eh, just go round in a circle, you ask first.” The old man took another swig of his alcohol.

“Alright, I’ll start easy for SCP-106. What’s your real name?”

“Thanks. My name is Lawrence. Alright, Dýo, your turn.”

“Hm. This one is for Andrew: What’s your biggest kink?” Andrew rolled his eyes.

“I suppose I like it rough.”

“Oh, come on, that’s hardly a kink.” Andrew smirked,

“ _Really_ rough. You’re lucky you have Damian; Damian wouldn’t last a minute with me.” The group laughed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised what Dýo does.” Damian laughed. “This one is for Simon: What are you here for?” Simon laughed.

“Nothing.”

“You have to tell the truth, it’s the rules.”

“I did.” Damian’s stare pierced Simon’s soul, “OK fine. So, I was running down this alley way after I ran away from home and I found some guy with a gun who entered my vision from out of nowhere. Startled, I quickly took the gun off him and shot him – it was only instinct.”

“Hm.” Damian nodded, “Looks like we’ve done a lot worse than what you did, huh?” The old man took yet another gulp from his alcohol.

“Damian, I got one for ‘ya,” he coughed, “Why are you here?” Damian chuckled,

“How original.”

“Go on…” Lawrence dragged out.

“Well, I was Britain and I was poor, I needed money. I have a degree in pathology, so I took advantage of the people. I spiked their water with cholera and sold the vaccine at inflated prices.” Dýo and Lawrence laughed, whereas Andrew only gave a small grunt.

“You OK?” Simon, who had been quiet during all this, heard a whisper from Andrew in his ear.

“Well I think it’s about time we wrapped up this game and head back to our chambers; it’s getting late, after all!” Dýo laughed.

“Oh no you don’t!” Simon shouted, startling everyone except Dýo. “I’m not going to let you use that mind-reading shit on me!” Dýo looked impressed.

“Damn, you got me – but I’m leaving, I don’t deal with awkward moments. Damian, come to my chambers tonight!” Dýo winked before leaving.

“Anyone care to explain?” Lawrence coughed.

“You.” Simon snarled, “When were these cholera spikes?” Damian stuttered a little but gained confidence.

“Well I don’t know; I didn’t write it down.” Lawrence gave a small smirk and a laugh under his breath – he liked drama.

“Just tell me.”

“Around 18… 18…” Damian paused, yawned, then paused some more, “1860 something?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Lawrence spoke up, “I don’t mean interrupt but let’s quicken the pace, yeah?”

“My great, great grandfather was a millionaire you know. I could’ve lived somewhere else than the God forsaken town. But he died of cholera in 1866.” Andrew felt Simon holding his hand underneath the table the were sat at; his hand was shaking. “Did _you_ by chance have something to do with that?”

“Now listen, listen,” Damian spoke softly, attempting to calm Simon down, who was directly glaring at him, bordering the edge of anger and sheer, uncensored rage, “We don’t have any evidence. Could’ve been me, could’ve got it from somewhere else.” Damian raised his hands in the air, “If it was me, I’m sorry- “.

“Liar.” Simon spat back, “You’re not sorry at all!”

“Listen I understand you’re angry but try to reason with me Simon- “.

“Enough of this.” Andrew boomed, “We will meet in this room again, soon enough. For now, I think we all need a good night’s rest.”

“Agreed” Lawrence took a final swig of his alcohol before placing it on the table with a loud knock. As much as he enjoyed it, even he had to admit the drama had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.

“I’ll escort Simon.” Andrew instructed the group, “As for you, Damian, you know your way. Personally, regardless of what happened, I’m not particularly impressed with your story – or how _proud_ you seem of it.”

“Yes well,” Damian mumbled, “We all have our quirks. Goodnight gentlemen.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

“G’night.” The group broke up for the night.

Simon lay in Andrew’s bed, sobbing as Andrew comforted him. “Hey, it was in the past. No need to get worked up about it now, yeah?” He rubbed Simon’s eyes with his thumb.

“Thanks. You’re- “

“Oh God, yes!” A familiar Greek voice could be heard downstairs. Andrew growled,

“Of course, he had to do it _right_ under us. I swear I’ll kill him one day.” The pair remained silent for a few moments. Andrew raised his eyebrows, noticing a dark red form across under-Simon’s eyes. Suddenly, Simon lazily threw an arm around Andrew’s neck, almost missing, pulling him closer.

“I can’t take this anymore Andrew, you’re fucking hot, alright?” Andrew first looked startled, but quickly grinned,

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

We could always out do them.” Simon grunted quietly in Andrew’s ears, “After all, I heard you like it rough.”

“You’re _so_ gonna to regret this.” Andrew grinned.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Vonn Angelo (SCP-079) has just had his one nightmare come true. After failing to graduate to a top Computer Science school, he is forced to run away from home. One after another, terrible events occur until he finds himself locked in a facility in which he can not escape, filled to the brim with lunatics; perhaps one of the lunatics will give him hope - maybe even more.

Simon's eyes fluttered open slowly to find it was still nothing darkness - at least until he moved his head away from Andrew's body, at which point he was blinded by the containment chamber lights above. Andrew himself was still sleeping softly next to Simon. Getting up, Simon groggily grabbed his prison clothes off the floor, put them on and made his way outside the chamber, careful not to wake Andrew up. As he walked down the nearby hallway, his eyes felt something they missed dearly - natural light. Looking upwards, Simon noticed a small crack in the ceiling and through that crack came the smallest glimpse of the sun's light, cast down upon the asylum. He did not understand why, but Simon remained fixed in his position, unable to look away. The muscles in his face relaxed and his breathing softened. Closing his eyes, images formed in Simon's mind: alley ways, blurred figures arguing, the dim light of a computer screen. Simon moved throughout the images. Classrooms, soft whispers, his warm bed, an old worn out teddy bear he used to play with. Suddenly, an echo spoke softly throughout Simon's mind. "Simon." It spoke. "Simon." It spoke, louder. Simon was then torn from his mind, turning around quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you." Andrew laughed a bit.

"Oh, it's alright."

"What were you looking at?" Andrew asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. Simon smiled softly.

"Nothing, just the light," He pointed, "It's been a short while since I've seen the light, yet it feels like eternity already." Andrew placed a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for last night, by the way. We can take it more slowly if you want."

"No," Simon interrupted, "It's fine. It was... nice." Simon laughed a little. "What's your thoughts on this light, anyway?"

"How do you think I feel?" Andrew smirked, "It's been years since I last saw it - and all this time, it's been hiding outside of my chamber." The pair looked through the crack some more. "Wouldn't it be great if we could just reach it?" Simon hummed,

"Yeah, if we could just climb to it, or jump through it."

"No," Andrew interrupted, "Just... well, it's hard to explain. Just reach it. No climbing or jumping. Just looking at it, and... you know, reaching it." Andrew's body tensed slightly at the sudden kiss from Simon, but it soon became a welcome one.

"I think I understand." The pair looked at one another, "How about we meet the others? After all, it'll not be long until we are locked away again." Andrew swallowed.

"Yeah, you're right." Andrew took Simon's hand as they walked slowly down the hallway, enjoying each other's presence. It surprised Simon that the Asylum did not have a single theme to it. Whilst his containment chamber was located within white walls with a slither of orange, the halls he and Andrew currently walked were more metallic, with a few hallways even being brown, muddy reds. Then, Simon was met with yet another theme, this time being a simple white and black - the greatest contrast.

"Well looker 'ere, if it isn't the new kid and the hardest criminal in this bloody asylum - holding hands, mind you!" Corporal Lawrence laughed.

"Do you always have alcohol on you, Corporal?" Andrew rolled his eyes.

"I don't know about you, but I reckon stealing millions from theatres, influencing global politics - or murdering hundreds of nurses and ill soldiers - or killing thousands, if not millions with diseases is a little bit harder than murdering a few guys who annoy you." A Greek voice chimed in from the end of one of the four doors in the junction-like room.

"Attention. Attention. Please may the following SCPs return to their containment chamber: SCP-035, SCP-079, SCP-106 and SCP-682. Failure to do so will result in immediate punishment or termination." A booming voice suddenly rang through the intercoms.

"Ha, too bad they can't legally terminate me. I'm a protected artefact!" Dýo laughed, "I'm heading to Damian." With a shrug, he was off – soon to be all of them.

Simon lay in his chamber. Soon enough, he was beginning to learn the true horrors of the Asylum. It isn’t the name calling from the guards, or the lack of natural light, or the subpar food, it’s the boredom. Oh, the boredom. Simon had fallen into the trap of making friends with others and now he was lonely and bored. Then, a thought occurred to Simon – why not just use his computer. Excited, Simon quickly scrambled to his computer, turning it on before figuring out how to turn off all the foundation security and monitoring. Luckily for Simon, it appeared as if they had underestimated his abilities, so it didn’t take long at all. “Why, hello there!”

Andrew almost jumped when he heard Simon’s voice suddenly emit from the camera speaker in his chamber. “Are you always going to be watching me as I’m changing?” Simon smiled to himself.

“Probably – is there an issue?” Andrew smirked,

“Guess I’ll just have to get used to knowing you eying me – just no watching me in my sleep, that’s creepy shit.” Andrew laughed. Simon returned the same.

“Strip for me.” Simon smirked, “You can be my cam-girl.” Andrew scoffed,

“Oh, come on! J'ai beaucoup plus de classe que ça, cher Simon!” Simon felt his face heat up. He didn’t know why, but he loved the sound of French (Well, if spoken properly).

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said I have more much class than that, dear Simon!” Andrew grinned at the camera following his moves slowly. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to bed.” Andrew took the last of his clothes off, “Look whilst you can, because these are the last few seconds you’ll get tonight – perhaps tomorrow you see me more.” 

“Goodnight, handsome.” Simon breathed happily, before changing cameras after Andrew blew him a kiss. He spent a while changing cameras, monitoring the other SCPs, although he made a clear avoidance of SCP-096’s room. Dýo lay down on a bed with his host still kicking, waving to the camera as he noticed it spin in a circle. “I thought you were with Damian?”

“I was – but they threatened to terminate him.” The mask replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

“Well, sleep well, Dýo.”

“Ciao.” Corporal Lawrence sat in his containment chamber, drinking as usual.

“You really don’t stop drinking, do you?” The Corporal spat his drink out in surprise.

“Couldn’t you at least give a slight warning before suddenly speaking,” He coughed, “If I keep hearing random voices like that, I’ll start going insane.” 

“Aren’t you already insane?” Simon laughed. Lawrence shrugged,

“I suppose.” Finally, Simon, admittedly by mistake, ended up watching Damian perform surgery. Thoughts of his crimes quickly soured Simon’s mind, although he couldn’t help but stare regardless. As much as he hated to admit it, Damian did appear to be the smartest in the Asylum – and the deadliest. After a few minutes of watching, Simon finally gained the courage to voice himself – and voice himself he did.

“Good evening, Damian.” Damian sighed as his hand jolted the scalpel in surprise.

“Well, there goes that surgery,” He paused, “What do you want?”

“I was just curious… how many people do you think you’ve killed?” Damian raised an eyebrow, removing his mask.

“What kind of question is that. I don’t know, twenty, maybe?”

“20?” Simon repeated, confused, “Just, 20?”

“Well, yes. Why?”

“But I don’t understand. What about all the sick people? You must’ve killed thousands at the very least.” Damian sighed, stuttering on his speech slightly.

“Well – that wasn’t… that wasn’t me, that was my friends.” Damian pointed to a petri dish. Simon laughed a little, caught off guard by the strange comment.

“And” Simon coughed, reassessing himself, “Did those ‘friends’ personally go out and chose who to infect – who to kill?”

“Well no but- “

“So, you killed them?”

“Alright, fine.” Damian huffed, before laughing manically. For a moment, Simon jumped, forgetting he was behind a screen. But soon, the laughing died down.

“Your mind would not be able comprehend the number of fatalities that have occurred as a result of my existence, Simon.” Damian shook his head lightly.

“Oh yeah? Says who! I’m on!” Simon frowned, insulted a little.

“OK then,” Damian laughed some more, “Let’s have a little thought experiment.” Damian grinned to the camera. “I’ll keep it more mathematical, for you – after all, you seem like that kind of guy. Let’s say you have a big tub, filled with little, blue marbles. One day, I, and only I, decide to drop a little red marble into the big tub. Over time, all the marbles become red. You are following?”

“Yes, it appears as if your just describing infection.” Simon raised an eyebrow, despite no one being able to see.

“And just how many marbles do you believe are in this tub?”

“Knowing you, probably a few hundred thousand- “

“Billions.” Damian halted Simon. “Billions and billions of the infected. However, there’s a problem,” Damian raised his hand to the camera suddenly, briefly enjoying Simon’s silence. Truthfully, Damian never really got chances like this to be able to explain without interruptions. “You see, let’s just pretend red marbles have more weight. Soon, the tub falls over and, what do you know – there’s a tub below it with another billion marbles! But this time, half of the marbles now in the tub are already infected, so it just keeps going – on and on and on, faster, faster, faster; the marbles do not stop!”

“I think you’ve lost your marbles, mate.” Simon couldn’t help himself, although he quickly regretted it.

“Do not interrupt me!” Damian shouted, “You want your bloody answer? Fine then! From one Brit to another – an upfront, in ‘ya face, statement: I’ve killed more people than every slicing, every stabbing, every sword, every bullet, every explosion, every bomb, every war and every disaster known to man! Name a disease!”

“I,” Simon paused, caught off by the sudden demand, “I’m sorry?”

“Go on! Name one, quickly.” Damian lowered his voice, returning to his more teacher-like state.

“Measles.” Damian paused too, before sighing. “OK, well name another one!”

“Uh… polio?”

“Yep, that’s all me!” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Simon half-laughed, “Don’t be so ridiculous- “

“Anthrax, Tetanus, Polio, Meningitis, Smallpox, Influenza, Syphilis, almost anything that causes the Common Cold,” The mad doctor continued, the further down the list he went the more worried Simon became. It was as if, if true – at least, that the words coming from the doctor’s mouth meant nothing to him at all. No signs of empathy or compassion could be seen. Hell, there wasn’t even a charming or terrifying evil in his voice – it was just as if he was rattling of names of old celebrities he had met, or a shopping list he was trying to remember. “Pretty much all the lentiviruses – they’ve killed millions too, Tuberculosis, Malaria – that’s a big one- “

“OK, I get it!” Simon shouted, getting sick of the list.

“They speak of highly of me, you know.” Damian smiled as if he it was proudest day of his life. 

“Who does, your therapist?”

“Ha! Good one.” Damian slapped his knees, “No but in all seriousness, they do like me quite a bit.” 

“Who?”

“Well, the guys I just mentioned.” Simon was lost for words.

“You… You don’t mean to tell me you… ‘speak’, to those things, do you?” Damian laughed more.

“Why of course! You don’t think I’d be able to speak to my own creations?”

“But there just bloody diseases! They aren’t people.” The mad doctor tutted.

“It appears the scientists here are not alone in their lack of understanding of my science. Anyway, you haven’t let me speak fondly of my dearest creation, Rabies.”

“Really? You invent smallpox, malaria and that is your dearest creation?”

“Why yes, of course! Malaria is too boring and smallpox… well, we all know what happened to them. But Rabies was the only disease I had trouble with birthing into this world. It required many, many   
failed attempts.”

“And let me guess, all those failed attempts ended up being diseases too.”

“No, no, do not rush.” Damian shook his head at the camera. “But it did cause me to become more invested in it. It’s a shame I haven’t spoken to it – or any disease, for a while. Well, except the friends that come from my – uh, you know, bodies.” Damian pointed to the body he was operating on. “You may be amazed to know that I managed to make each of these diseases as a hive mind – For example, let’s say I speak to some Anthrax – and yes, I know that’s a weird image, in Asia. If I meet some more Anthrax in Europe, it’ll instantly remember all our previous conversations. Hell, it’ll have the same personality too – although I can’t control that part. Isn’t that cool? Hm? Hmmm?”

“So, I was right in predicting you were the smartest one, hm?” Simon sighed – the conversation alone had tired him immensely, let alone the knowledge that all the times he had caught the cold and had to deal with bullshit like blocked noses was entirely the fault of the mad-man standing before him.

“Perhaps, although it wouldn’t be arrogant of me to suggest that.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Hm?”

“The amount of death you’ve caused.” Damian stood for a while, all the while silently. 

“No.” He then returned to operating. Simon was sceptical, to say the least.

“Oh, and one last thing, doctor!” Damian placed a fist on his operating table in annoyance as he messed up another cut, “What?”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Find the cure.”

“For what?”

“Never you mind.” With that, Simon switched back to his lover’s camera.

“Andrew?” Simon spoke.

“Mm, what love? I was just getting to sleep.”

“I’m coming over to your chamber – I’m sure I’ll be able to convince Dr Bright – you have no idea all the shit I just learned.”


	9. Indefinite Hiatus

This story is on indefinite hiatus for the following reasons:

\- I. Lack of passion.  
\- II. Loss of interest.  
\- III. Personal issues.

I. Lack of passion.

I do not have a passion for writing anymore. What is the point? What do I gain from any of this? These words have no impact on the universe. Besides, it's just a silly story about human incarnations of a lizard and a robot with no emotions.

II. Loss of interest.

I have come to realise that I am beginning to dislike the SCP Foundation. The moderators are liberal cowards; and I don't mean that as some kind of insult towards liberals, whatever they may be. I mean it as in they are tumblr levels of liberal. They have the nerve to remove the ability to downvote on particular SPCs just because they support LGBT, or someone's rights, or whatever it may be, REGARDLESS of the original article's quality. I'm not here to support LGBT rights, nor am I here to go against LGBT rights. I just want some good fucking articles - and that voting system allows us to filter them. It's no wonder then that, out of all the articles the SCP moderators have removed the ability to vote on due to whatever reasons, they are all shit (regardless of viewpoints).

III. Personal issues.

All I want to do is go to therapy for thoughts of both suicide and murder and they won't let me because of some COVID-19 bullshit. I don't give a fuck whether COVID-19 puts your staff at risk; it's a respiratory infection. Last time I checked, online video chats did not spread COVID-19. Either you therapists do your fucking job and help, not just me, but the millions of people like me, or quit. Now obviously these therapists are HAPPY to help those who do NOT have complicated cases, because its easy. But the moment these people encounter a particularly challenging case, or one that requires slightly more thinking, it's immediately resolved with, "We're sorry to inform you that due to COVID-19..." Lazy cowards, the lot of them.


End file.
